Chapter Five

Max

"That's right, breathe. Just relax and breathe." Max kept his voice low, adding a touch of warmth to its notes to ensure they penetrated the shocked woman's mind.

"I'm fu-fucking trying," she stammered, still struggling to straighten her rubbery legs to keep the collar around her throat from strangling her.

Max DuPont was a hard man, although not by choice. His rough exterior was forged by years of the blunt force of his father's fists. According to Matthew, meting out regular beatings was the only way to transform soft boys into real men.

Unfortunately for young Max, he bore the brunt of his father's warped ideology. After a bitter divorce, Max's mother gained custody of his twin sister, while Max was left alone under his father's merciless care. Without his mother's gentle affection to balance out the violence, Max endured a bleak and painful childhood. He learned early on that love was conditional, often accompanied by cruelty and control. Each blow from his father was not just physical; it was a strike against his spirit, a lesson in distrust and self-reliance.

Matthew dictated every aspect of Max's young life, allowing no room for tenderness or joy. The sweet six-year-old boy learned quickly that the only way to get by was to toughen up and fight for every scrap he needed. The pain from his father's fists became a dull, constant ache, but it also became a forge for his resilience. He found solace in learning and displayed keen intelligence and focus. As a result, he skipped two grades in school and graduated high school by age sixteen, relieved to escape his father's house sooner.

After graduation, Matthew forced Max to enlist in the military, as he himself had done. Within a year, Max was recruited by the Army Green Berets as a special forces' weapons sergeant. Though he held no love for the military path, Max had no choice but to excel as he always had. His competence and grit soon caught the eye of Sergeant Major Camden Brett, who took the young recruit under his wing.

Camden encouraged Max to study part time and helped guide him through college. In return, he asked that Max join the elite Delta Force CAG one day and lend his specialized skills. Eager to pursue the independence he had been dreaming of, Max didn't need to be asked twice—he readily agreed. Camden became a surrogate father, a mentor who recognized the potential in Max that had been buried under years of abuse. For the first time, Max experienced a form of paternal pride that was not laced with pain.

The day Max turned twenty, he had already obtained his degree in business science, specializing in all three aspects of the sphere—people management, ethics, and strategic thinking. It was also the day he walked away from the military and his father and started building the life that would give him the power he craved. No one would tell him how to live his life ever again. Max shared his military past with no one, locking away that grim chapter for good. It was a dark reservoir of memories he preferred to keep sealed.

It was after that he met his group of friends—at Varsity to obtain his MBA. A decision he never regretted since he finally found the connections missing from his desolate youth, forging close bonds with friends who remained loyal to this day, twenty-five years later. With them, he discovered camaraderie that was supportive rather than competitive, and for the first time, he felt a sense of belonging.

Matthew DuPont and the Green Berets belonged to his past. He had never returned to either of them and had no intention of ever revisiting history.

Though privileged in his new life, Max's father and the military had left scars on his soul. Money and power became outlets for his hardened edges and latent rage. He channeled his anger into ambition, building an empire that was a fortress against vulnerability.

Forcing back thoughts of the past, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him.

"You're doing well, little one," he murmured as he pressed his body against her back. A smile perched on his lips as he felt a renewed trembling in her body. "I have to admit, I'm pleasantly surprised by your reaction to my kiss." He chuckled as a low growl emitted from deep within her chest. She very clearly didn't appreciate being reminded of losing control over her body. "We'll definitely have to revisit the experience soon."

"Strung up like a lamb to slaughter, I have obviously no say in the matter," she snapped.

"Ah, there she is. The brat. Can't say I'm surprised. Everything about you is shouting out your sassy nature."

"I'm not sassy. I'm just… I'm just…"

"Quiet, Wick." It was satisfying that his dark Dom's voice immediately obtained the desired effect. The little witch pressed her lips together and shut up, confirming his suspicions. She might not be a submissive, but she had a natural desire to be dominated.

This was his safe haven. Here, in this Airbus thousands of feet above the ground was where Max found his balance—in Club Decadent Skies. Here, he could relax and forget about the silent devil inside him, which in his day-to-day life refused to quiet down. Here, among friends and like-minded souls, he could release the talons of a demanding spirit that needed to shine. Here, he could feel, smile, and most of all, if he was lucky, maybe one day… love.

"Please, release me. My throat hurts," she begged in a soft voice. Max was under no illusion. This woman was no sub, and to plead with him threatened to choke her more than the restrictive collar did.

Max DuPont was a paradox, a man forged in violence, yet yearning for tenderness, a leader with a hidden past, a soul seeking peace in a world he had conquered through sheer will. In the sanctuary of Club Decadent Skies, he glimpsed the possibility of a future untainted by the shadows of his past, a future where he could finally let down his guard and embrace the softer emotions he had been denied for so long.

"Soon," he promised as he took a step back to quietly circle her as she continued the struggle to quieten her heaving breaths. Their eyes clashed. Max was jarred by an unexpected stirring deep inside him. His steps slowed as he stopped to face her. Instinct warned him that she was different from all the women he had met in his life. Within a matter of minutes, she had packed a punch directly to his gut—one he hadn't seen coming.

Outwardly, Wick appeared reserved, if somewhat aloof. Yet there lingered a hint of mystery in the depth of her eyes. At times, they were fulgent and mercurial. There was a mystique about them. How they seemed to be partially illuminated, like staring into lake water where the light dropped off into pitch black. It was the darkness that held Max's attention.

As their eyes locked, an undeniable spark ignited between them, a chemical reaction that set their souls ablaze with the exothermic burn of instantaneous attraction. It was as if two opposite halves of the same sphere had finally found each other, drawn together by an unseen force that bound them in a spiritual weld. Their minds seemed to flow together in a confluence of thought and emotion, embarking on a thrilling voyage of exploration. The prospect of discovering the depths of their connection, of pushing the boundaries of their self-imposed limitations, tantalized and exhilarated Max.

At that moment, the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, their hearts racing in sync as they stood on the precipice of something extraordinary. The air between them crackled with electricity, a palpable energy that seemed to pull them closer, as if the universe itself was conspiring to bring them together.

He shook off the feelings wrapping around him.

"What are you doing on my plane, Wick?"

She looked startled, then blurted out, "You're the first person who hasn't laughed or made snarky comments about my name."

"Wicked Bitch?" He tilted his head and studied her for long moments. Earnest curiosity was the only emotion he read in her eyes. "I assumed it was your sub name." Her eyes flared. "You don't even know what kind of plane this is, do you?" Her lips pursing was answer enough. "Wicked Bitch is your real name? Good Lord, what were your parents thinking?"

"Wicked Witch Bitch actually." She smiled at his expression. "Hard liquor and cocaine don't aid thinking, and since my original name was one my father chose, I assume my mother changed it to make sure I'd never remind her of his existence."

"Let's revisit that at a later stage as well." Max could see it was a subject she didn't wish to pursue. "My patience is wearing thin, Wick. Focus on answering my question."

"I don't suppose telling you I wandered onto the wrong plane would wash?"

"You suppose correctly."

"I would love to tell you." A sly smile curved her lips. "But since I don't know who you are, I can't. See, Master M doesn't really count since that can't be your name, right?"

"It can't? Hmm… see, that's why one should always check before you blindly jump into the fire after someone… somewhat like you did by following Jax onto the plane, right?"

The blush spreading over her cheeks was becoming, although he doubted it was due to embarrassment. Wicked Bitch didn't like her shortcomings to be pointed out to her.

"Since you wandered onto a plane you had no idea what kind of carrier it is, I believe it's time you found out." He walked closer. His pearly whites flashed in the downlights as he walked closer and fluttered his palm over her rounded stomach.

"Oww!" she gasped and stared at him with rounded eyes as he tugged on the short triangle of curls covering her pubis mons.

"This has to go. I like my pussies bare."

"Y-you what?" Her shocked response was spoiled as he unclipped the heavy chain from her collar, replacing it with a thin, lighter one. She sagged in relief as she could finally lower her weight onto her feet. "Stop! What are you… ahhh… doing," she ended in a whimper of pleasure as he went onto his haunches and gently massaged the cramped muscles in her thighs, calves, and feet. Max might be a hard man, but Master M always took care of his submissives' needs… and whether the mysterious and sensational Wicked Witch Bitch realized it or not, she had just become his, a position many others coveted.

"There," he said once the tightness softened under his mastery. Clipping the thin chain onto the front loop of his jeans, he headed to the door. "Come, let's de-hair you first, then I'll take you on a tour." The protesting squeak invited a glance at her over his shoulder. "What's the problem? I told you I like my pussies bare."

"First, that isn't the issue, but since you brought it up, let me be the first to point out the obvious. This,"—she pointed at the general direction of her genitals—"is my… er… it's mine, so you don't get to decide what happens to it. Secondly, I am not parading around the plane filled with God knows how many people with my naked ass wiggling all over the place."

"First, that pussy became mine the minute you climaxed by my doing; ergo, I decide what happens to it from this point forward. Secondly, believe me, no one will notice the state of your undress." His eyes glimmered with amusement. "To the contrary, you might even be a tad overdressed."

Ignoring her continued protest, he headed down one flight of stairs, not bothering to shorten his strides. She was tall and could easily keep up, no matter that she kept yanking on the chain to free herself.

"This is abduction! I demand you release me this instant."

Max laughed but continued down a side hallway. "One can hardly abduct someone who is a trespasser. I suggest you calm down, little witch, before I decide to spank that wiggling ass of yours until you can't sit on it for a week."

"I do not have a wiggling ass!"

"No? Well, I didn't think so, either, but I could've sworn you said earlier—"

"Oh, just shut up."

He stopped at a door with the words GoldenEye Spa carved in gold cursive letters. A sharp, narrowed glare pierced through her.

"Since you still have no idea where you are, I'll let that slide, but this is the only warning you'll get from me. Show me such disrespect again, and your ass will suffer the consequences."

"Master M! This is a surprise. You don't usually come here during the flight." The petite blond spared a cursory glance at the disheveled nymph doing her best to shield her nakedness by shuffling behind his large body as they walked inside the spa.

"I brought you a client, Beauty." He clasped Wick's elbow and dragged her toward the ob-gyn chair in the middle of the room. "I need her pussy waxed, please."

"No, you don't!" Wick shrieked when he picked her up like she weighed nothing and plonked her on the chair. "I'm not having my… my… I'm not getting waxed!"

"I see we're going to have to do this the hard way," Max muttered as she attempted to swing her legs off the chair. With one hard yank, he stilled a further attempt as the collar around her throat tightened when he pulled the chain back and down. "There, it seems you prefer to be subdued like a little puppy in training."

The glower she shot at him spoke volumes, but the only reaction she received from him was a dark chuckle.

"I suggest you tie her legs to the spreader bars, Beauty. I wouldn't put it past her to kick you under the chin."

"Thank you, Master M. That's exactly what I was considering."

Wick didn't give in; he had to give her that. She did everything in her power to keep the petite beautician from binding her to the chair. Beauty, as always, wasn't perturbed. She had her fair share of difficult subs, and within moments, she had both Wick's legs tied down. With a triumphant smile, she boldly pushed the split seat wide open.

"There, now I can work without interruption."

"Touch me down there, Beauty, and I will personally see that your name doesn't fit you in the future."

"Well, she is a feisty one, isn't she, Master M?"

Max suppressed a smile at the recalcitrant expression on Wick's face. She was clearly not used to her threats being brushed off.

"No need for violence, Wick. Beauty is only doing her job. If you have murderous intentions, I'd appreciate you aiming them at me. I will only be too happy to address any barbs you throw my way."

"If that bitch waxes my… my… down there," she furiously pointed downwards, "I will be sure to return the favor." Her eyes glimmered angrily. "With your… your dick fur!"

This time, Max's laugh rumbled all the way from deep within his belly. The sound was so unexpected and so infectious, both women could only stare. He had no idea that his entire visage had changed—how relaxed he became, or that his eyes shone, and his body seemed to roll like a wave in the ocean.

"I'm not sure how Beauty will feel about you taking over her job, but I'll be sure to remember that when my… dick fur grows back."

"Ugh, I should've known." Max could swear she was refraining from spitting on the floor. "Of course, you keep your… your… your hair free."

"Indeed." He swallowed the last of his laughter and nodded at Beauty. "Get to it, please."

"Hmm," Beauty traced the triangle of curls. "Very well maintained. It's almost a pity to yank them all out."

"Then don't." Max could hear the plea in her voice, but it didn't sway him off course.

"No need to be scared, Wick. Beauty has a gentle and very quick hand. You'll feel no more than a pinch."

Wick didn't bother to respond but continued to glare at Beauty as she checked the temperature of the wax. He was proud when the only response to Beauty yanking out her pubis hair was a short gasp.

"Hmm, I see there are a couple hairs hiding within her folds. I'll just pluck them."

"No need," Max said as he hooked the chain to an O-ring in the wall. "I'll do it."

"You will do no such thing!" Wicked exploded indignantly. "It's her job. You said so yourself. No!"

Max noticed how her thigh muscles bounced as she strained to close her legs. His large hand landed on one rounded thigh as he stood between her widespread legs. Leaning closer, he inspected Beauty's handiwork.

"You're right. There are a couple that need to be plucked. Tweezers, please."

"Don't you fucking dare! Do. Not. Pluck… no! Stay away! Don't… owww! Holy shit!" she cried as he roughly yanked out one of the hairs.

His eyes drifted over her pink labia, her swollen clit, and then her heaving stomach until his eyes locked on hers.

"It'll be wise to remember never to oppose me, Wick."

The message was received loud and clear since she didn't utter another sound as he continued to pluck the rest.

"Oh God," she mumbled in mortification as he took the tub of cream from Beauty and with slow, sensual movements, rubbed a layer of the silky gel all over her labia.

"There, all done." He remained in a hunched position with his head between her thighs. "I must admit, this is a very arousing and inviting sight. One might even be tempted to take advantage of the position."

"So, who's stopping you?"

Max's eyes lifted to hers. Her cheeks were tinted a becoming rosy color, and even in her disheveled state, she was beautiful. A sensual siren who potentially presented more trouble than pleasure. She was an enigma. Shy on the one hand and couldn't get herself to utter the word pussy or dick, yet her eyes were all seductress. A man could easily lose himself in those deep blue depths.

His eyes dropped to the pink folds, coated with her creamy lust that glistened invitingly.

"No."

"No?" She sounded indignant. "I'm inviting you to have sex with me, and you say no?"

"I'm saying no." Max felt the beast inside him protest just as loudly, but he chose to ignore its pull to take what he knew would be a mind-blowing experience.

"Why?" she kept pushing.

"Because you're not needy enough."